Amendment II: Wolf's Amity
by SilverSteamWolf
Summary: Sequel to 'Wolf's Calling'. Division, desperation and dwindling hope. The young she-varg and her accomplices take refuge in a strange and wondrous forest, while their friends struggle in their own battles afar. With time ticking away, Faolan and her friends must act, and fast. Part 2 of 3.
1. Prologue: Vargkyn of Mordor

**A/N: **_Tada! And thus part 2 begins! Sorry for the delay. Much busy, such college, very frustrating. xD I did originally want to upload this and the first chapter together but it was taking too long so it turned out like this instead. After reading this you'll probably wonder what the hell is going on. Don't worry; tis all part of plan. Just an insight to the vargkyn's beginnings really. Thought it'd be interesting. Anyway, chapter 1 should be uploaded soon once I get the damned thing finished. Ta x_**_  
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**Vargkyn of Mordor**

_**Mordor, during the Second Age**_

Cerin took shelter from a rain shower in a tent of the military camp on the plateau of Gorgoroth, attempting to remove bits of meat from his previous meal that got stuck between his teeth with his claw-like nails. He was a vargkyn in his prime, a magnificent jewel in the crown of the Dark Lord's newest creation. A ruthless, merciless killer and loyal in the face of great peril, Cerin was the one of the most favourite and trustworthy of Sauron's servants. He was in command of his own group of vargkyn troops, of which he dominated, and led them on missions at the Dark Lord's request. Cerin's dominant personality was favourable and meant that subordinate vargkyn troops respected him, which in turn led to richer reward.

The Vargkyn of Mordor, while in the same military force, had a separate society to the Orcs. The tension between the two races was nearly always high and often led to brutal squabbles ending in serious injury or death, and so the two kept apart as much as they could. Vargkyn, having an instinctive sense of loyalty, were fiercely protective of their comrades.

Cerin was surprised to find that the Messenger, the Mannish Lieutenant, had been searching for him. As he entered the tent, Cerin bowed his head respectfully. He had only three superiors – the Witch-King of Angmar, the Mouth of Sauron, and the Lord of Mordor himself.

"Our master, Sauron the Great, wishes to speak with you immediately in person," the Lieutenant spoke in that gurgling, growling voice.

Cerin froze. This was a great honour; very few had the opportunity to meet with the Dark Lord in person. "Right away, sir," the varg complied, and hastily made his way across the ash plains to the Dark Tower.

Barad-dûr was a foreboding place and caused the vargkyn to tremble fearfully. Upon meeting his lordship, Cerin knelt and bowed his head. Though determined to not show fear in front of his master, Cerin could not help be frightened in his presence and refused to look up to see what the Dark Lord's face looked like.

The vargkyn suppressed a whimper when his master addressed him. He commended his loyal servant on his work that continued to impress him; thanks to Cerin's efforts, many of the Elendili, or the Faithful as they were also know, were hunted down and killed by Cerin's hands or paws as it were. However, four of the Seven Rings of Power that were gifted to the Dwarves were still missing and Cerin and his unit of vargkyn troops were to be the ones to retrieve them.

Intent of not disappointing his master, Cerin gathered his troops at once and left immediately on a quest to recover four of the Rings of Power gifted to the dwarves. For months they searched over and under the mountains of Middle-earth, all the possible places that dwarves would be found, but they was no trace of the Rings; only treasure hordes guarded by sleeping dragons. What was odd was that amidst the gold, silver and jewels of the dragons' hoards, none of the vargkyn could sense the presence of power. Cerin's second-in-command suggested many times that the Rings were lost forever and that they should return home, but he refused to listen. He even resorted to asking a dragon if they had seen a powerful ring lying around his gold piles, much to the dragon's distaste as the beasts are very territorial and protective of their treasure.

And so the vargkyn group went home, a sense of dread growing in Cerin's stomach. What would his master say when he returns empty handed? Cerin had never returned without what the Dark Lord asked for. The consequences were worse than Cerin could have thought; he was punished severely by his master for his failure, despite the varg telling him about the dragons' hoards. Cerin returned to his home that day sulking, sporting bruises and cuts from his punishment.

**Pronunciation**

Cerin – _seer-in _meaning 'little dark one'


	2. 1: Unpleasant Company

**Unpleasant Company**

Faolan slowly opened her eyes, waking from a restless dream. In the dream the land was shrouded in darkness as a blue-black night sky loomed overhead, the bright shining half moon the only thing shedding a little light on the hills, fields and mountains. Faolan stood on a grassy hilltop in her lustrous grey wolf form. On a plain to her right a herd of deer slept quietly. One occasionally lifted its head to listen and Faolan could see that the stags' antlers were shedding. To her left, a flock of wild sheep also rested, rams and ewes in lamb. Faolan felt hungry as she looked over the herbivores and licked her lips, deciding which animals to hunt. She had felt herself lift her forepaw and move forward before the dream faded into reality.

Lifting her head slightly to absorb her surroundings, Faolan found herself lying in her wolf form on the grass of a wide hilly landscape dotted with grey rocks. A band of orcs argued and bickered around her. At first she felt panicked, before remembering the events that had happened earlier at Amon Hen. How long ago was that? Her mind felt disorientated as she tried to piece things together. She tried to sit upright, only to fall over, cruelly reminded that her paws and jaws had been bound when the orcs captured her. Merry and Pippin were with her at the time that happened; where were they? She could smell them, but not see or hear them.

The she-wolf huffed and shook her head as her nose felt itchy. Irritatingly, she could not lift her paw far enough to scratch it. The wound she had acquired in the forest at Amon Hen had begun to heal and formed a protective scab amidst the soft silver-grey fur. She let out a quiet whine when she remembered the horrific thing she had almost done to Frodo – almost tore open his throat if it weren't for his quick reactions. Guilt had enclosed her in its dark suppressing grasp. That accursed Ring! Why did it have to affect her so much? Not that it mattered now; the Ring and its Barer were far away now. They were all far away – Legolas, Sam, Aragorn, Gimli. Except the young cousins, they were still near, somewhere. She had to find them, Faolan thought with determination, to make sure they were alright.

A large rough hand suddenly grabbed Faolan by the scruff of her neck and slung her over an orc's shoulder again. It was an uncomfortable way to travel, but at least she wasn't being forced to walk with her paws tied together. They were evidently done with their brief rest as the group pressed on to their destination, that Faolan did not know. They couldn't have been heading for Mordor, the Black Land was in the opposite direction. That is what worried the she-varg most; the unknown place they were headed, why she had not been killed yet, and what awaited them when the journey was over.

Faolan's carrier and an orc next to him began a conversation; "Why are we keeping this one alive? It's not one of them Halflings. Got a lot of meat on it."

"Ugluk seems to think it might be worth something to Saruman. But if it ain't, I'm not gonna be happy about carryin' it all this way!"

Faolan perked her ears to listen intently keeping her eyes closed pretending to fall asleep.

"What is it anyway? It ain't a warg, it's too small, and it sure ain't no ordinary wolf either."

"Ugluk thinks it's some sort of shape shifter. He said that in the woods where we slew the mighty warrior, it changed from something like a Halfling to this in seconds. I think it's a waste of time and energy!"

Faolan had heard enough. The mention of Saruman was not good news. She dreaded to think what the white wizard had in store for the two hobbits and vargkyn when they reached Isengard. If it was the One Ring he was after, then he would sorely disappointed and would more than likely kill his prisoners when he realised they were of no use to him. There was no question about it; they had to escape...somehow. It seemed quite impossible with all the orcs keeping an eye on them, but Faolan was determined to think of a plan. She had to. She'd rather take her chances with the orcs than submit to Saruman. The first step was to find her friends.

The uncomfortable journey lasted up to three days, and Faolan was growing hungry, impatient and agitated. There was no energy left stored in her glass beads and her body began to draw energy from fat. This combined with the fact that she could not move on her own and hadn't been able to contact Merry or Pippin left her extremely irritable, like a caged animal. In effect, she was a caged animal, moments away from being overcome by rage. Whenever she was put down for a while, she'd desperately try to break free from her restraints when no one was looking; she had had enough of not being able to walk or part her jaws for a simple yawn. Unfortunately the bonds were very well done and remained secure. If only she wasn't muzzled, then she could have chewed through them with the scissor-like teeth at the back of her mouth. Alas, she was stuck in this humiliating position until someone, friend or foe, released her.

However, there was a small glimmer of hope; sometimes Faolan would catch a glimpse or scent of horses in the distance, or hear the faint thundering of hooves. The people riding these horses appeared quite tall and fair-haired. Faolan deduced that they were likely a friendly folk, given that very few servants of the Enemy elect to use horses as mounts.

One evening, the riders came up behind the orcs over the hills, firing arrows and picking off individuals at the back of the group. The shrieks roused Faolan from her sleep and she lifted her head and perked her ears tentatively, watching the horsemen gallop by and enclose in on the orcs, pushing them along the line of a river which Faolan did not know the name of. The sudden buzz of activity left the she-varg feeling a little dazed and confused, unsure whether to hide or make herself noticed. A released arrow squarely planted itself in the back of her carrier's head. As he felt, Faolan was flung from his shoulder onto the ground, landing painfully on her right flank. No one appeared to have noticed and continued to flee the attack. The she-varg flattened herself on the ground as the horsemen followed, hoping that none of the horses would trample her. As the thundering sound grew quieter again, Faolan cautiously lifted her head to watch. The company had run off without her and she was free. Well, almost free; her bonds will still completely intact. Now, she took the opportunity to wriggle out the bonds, for she would only be able to chase after the orcs if she could run properly. They had to come undone eventually, they just _had_ to.

Faolan spent a good while lying in that same spot struggling to get free. Eventually, she managed to free her hind paws with constant kicking and twisting and occasional pushing with her muzzle. Once they were free, the-wolf had a good scratch at all the itchy places that had been bothering her over previous days then proceeding in removing the restraints around her jaws. She rolled on her back and used her hind paws to push them off over her nose. It was a very drawn-out, tiring and slightly painful process, but soon Faolan eased off the bonds and regained the ability to open her mouth again. Finally, she hastily began chewing at the ties around her forepaws, the scissor-like teeth slowly but surely slicing through the strong material.

Freedom at last! Faolan bounced around joyfully, able to run and jump around with ease. By this time, night had fallen and the she-varg noticed that the horsemen had completely encircled the company of orcs who had gathered on a little hillock. Small fires lit up as the men waited patiently and silently for dawn, much to the orcs' annoyance. She could faintly hear Ugluk yelling at his kinsmen for 'loosing the wolf'. Faolan stealthy stalked closer the horsemen but kept a respectable distance as she thought they would not welcome her presence.

In the darkness, the vargkyn fancied she saw two small silhouettes huddled closely, accompanied by the larger, bulkier form of an orc. He then grasped her comrades under each arm and sneakily headed for a gap in the horsemen's defence. Faolan struggled to resist the urge to spring from the shadows to her friends' aid; revealing herself would cause all sorts of trouble in this situation. She would wait and see how things develop. The men appeared not to notice the orc passing by silently in the darkness, until he stood up straight only to come face to face with a rider. The horse reared and snorted, kicking with its hooves. Faolan watched intently as the orc threw himself to the ground and drew his sword. It was this act that alerted the men of his presence and an arrow skilfully flew from the darkness and pierced the orc's hand. He let out a shriek and dropping the sword made for an escape, only to be brought down with a spear through his back.

The horsemen sprang into action, and Faolan trotted to and fro at the edge of the hillock searching for her friends but saw no sign of them. It was possible they were hiding in order to avoid being trampled on or skewered. The she-varg crept a little closer to the fray, near the spot where the orc had left the hobbits, with her nose to the ground scanning for their scent. The scent was strong, although she could not see them in the long grass. She circled around a little while before remembering the elven cloaks from Lothórien used to hide themselves from their enemies. Faolan leapt to where the hobbits' scent was strongest, touched what felt like a cloak with her nose and lifted them off, revealing a couple of startled hobbits underneath. Realising it was Faolan, the hobbits sprang up from their hiding place, very pleased to see her. As much as the she-varg was happy to find them alive, the time for hugs had to wait; she inspected them closely for any injuries and untied their bonds with her teeth. She was surprised to find that Pippin's had somehow already been undone. Faolan gave a light bark and hastily shepherded them along away from the battle to somewhere much safer where they would be allowed to discuss things peacefully.


	3. 2: Rise of the White Wizard

**Guess what guys? It's summer and I have more time or less personal struggles! And I can get back into the swing of this writing thing. Enjoy it while it last, folks!**

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**Rise of the White Wizard**

In the darkness, the companions briskly followed the river away from the chaotic massacre. Faolan's keen eyesight spotted the line of a forest not too far away, where she intended to lead her friends to recuperate, nurse injuries and find decent food. In an unsteady trot, the she-varg guided the hobbits across the plain – her leg muscles felt rather stiff after being restrained for so long. She looked back every now and then to check that the cousins hadn't fallen behind.

Faolan gave a light bark, "Come on, the sooner we get under cover the better."

"We don't know what the means, Faolan," Merry expressed his incomprehension of Wolf speech.

The she-wolf let out a little growl before whipping around and giving the hobbits a rough nudge from behind. "It means this! Move it."

Faolan would somehow have to teach the hobbits at least some Wolf speech if they were going to have any hope of successfully communicating over the next few days, weeks, or perhaps even months.

The distant tree line gradually grew larger and clearer as they drew closer until the grass and rock outcrops were left behind and a thick wall of ancient twisted trees loomed before them. Faolan hesitated as she stood beneath the canopy, nose up, scenting the air - there was a strange vibe about this forest, one unlike the other forests and woodland she had ventured to. It felt suppressing, like dark storm clouds threatening to break overhead. The she-wolf inhaled deeply. Their only choices were either to shelter in the forest or stay exposed on the open plains and she did not fancy taking her chances with uruk-hai or horsemen again.

Faolan cautiously put her paws forward, keeping her senses on high alert. As her paws sunk into the spongy moss-covered ground like a soft blanket, she smelt decaying leaf litter and tree sap, heard the branches creaking and leaves rustling, yet there was no breeze here. Hopping over the gnarled tree roots protruding from the ground, the she-varg lead her companions into a little clearing. It seemed an adequate place to rest for a while and plan their next move. Despite the fact that Faolan had not detected any signs of predators or enemies, she left a few temporary territory markers around the clearing to warn other creatures that she was occupying this space and was fit and healthy enough to fight.

The next thing on the agenda was food. Faolan shifted to her Man-like form for better communication with her friends and to catch dinner without covering the prey with saliva.

Suddenly, the earth seemed to move beneath their feet as one of the trees appeared to uproot itself and bend as though it had joints. Then another tree. Faolan looked up, her wide eyes and flat ears prompting Merry and Pippin to follow her gaze. It turned out that the two 'trees' that pulled themselves out of the ground were joined in what appeared to be a swaying humanoid being. Faolan froze, her mind unable to unravel what was happening. Only when her friends yelled to run did she come to her senses, turn tail and flee. She let out a yelp when enormous branch-like arms reached down and scooped the hobbits and vargkyn up.

The tree-creature lifted the companions to its eye level. As she struggled uncomfortably, squashed between Pippin and the creature's branch-like fingers, Faolan caught a good glimpse of its face; it had deep, round amber eyes and hanging moss for a beard.

"Little Orcs, bararum!" it thundered as it looked over its captors with scrutiny.

"Sweet Mother of Varg, the tree talks!"

"Tree?! I am no tree!" the creature boomed, "I am an Ent."

"A Tree-herder, a Shepherd of the Forest," Merry piqued up with interest.

"Treebeard some call me."

"And whose side are you on?" Pippin's voice shook with worry.

"Side? I am on nobody's side, because nobody is on my side, little Orc." Treebeard's voice resonated through Faolan's being. "Nobody cares for the woods anymore."

"Mister Treebeard, if I may correct you, we are not Orcs. My companions here are Hobbits and I... Well, I'm something else, but definitely not an Orc." Faolan held back from mentioning her race, unsure of Treebeard's intentions. Despite the fact that she was now in the open, she still intended to keep her race a secret from those who may be unfriendly.

The Ent rumbled with curiosity, "Hobbits? Never heard of Hobbits before, little wolf." Faolan's ears perked with both surprise and interest when he mention 'wolf'. Did this peculiar tree-like being know what she was? "Sounds like Orc mischief to me," Treebeard rumbled, "They come with fire, they come with axes, gnawing, biting, breaking, hacking, burning! Destroyers and usurpers, curse them!"

Treebeard's grip tightened around his captors as his voice grew progressively angrier. They struggled in a futile attempt to writhe out of his grasp as Merry tried his hardest to persuade him that they he and Pippin were not Orcs. Faolan however, remained quiet, save for pained yelps, as she tried to piece everything together and understand what was happening.

"Maybe you are, and maybe you are not," Treebeard replied, much more calmly this time. "The White Wizard will know."

A feeling of dread washed over the companions. The White Wizard? Had they been freed from the Uruk-hai taking them to Isengard only be captured by Saruman anyway? Finally, Treebeard released them, letting them drop. Faolan cursed under her breath out of frustration as she landed heavily on her back on the moss-covered forest floor.

A tall man stood before them bathed in a bright white light. The she-varg squinted as she tried to decipher his features but the glare denied her such knowledge. She adopted a defensive stance, a low growl bubbling up in her throat, while scenting the air, taking in a much information as she could. The scent seemed familiar somehow, though Faolan could not place it. Her brain told her she'd smelt it somewhere before yet this time it was a little fresher.

"I am glad to see you still have much fight left in you, young Faolan," came a voice.

"How do you know my name?," Faolan feigned an assertive tone, determined not to show fear, "Who are you?"

A long moment of silence passed until the light dimmed enough for the man's features to be fully visible - an elderly, yet able-bodied man donned in fine white robes, a tall white tall in hand. And the face, the nose, the solemn eyes and unmistakable eyebrows. These were Gandalf's features.

Yet for all the familiarity, this person cannot be Gandalf, thought Faolan. Gandalf fell into the abyss of Moria and could only have died. Not even a powerful wizard such as himself could cheat death.

The growl that was bubbling in Faolan's throat erupted, "What trickery is this?"

"Faolan, what is the matter with you? It's Gandalf," Merry scolded her for her rude behaviour.

"But...but he can't be."

The wizard spoke, "Faolan, do you remember the conversation we had on the banks of the Bruinen river before the Fellowship began the journey?"

Faolan cast her mind back to that quiet, peaceful evening. "I was insistent I wouldn't go for fear of hurting someone because of the Ring. Gandalf said that was not who I was, but I was still scared that it could happen," the she-varg's voice began to break as she felt a lump form in her throat, "And it did happen. The pull was too strong, I couldn't resist it, a-a-and I tried to kill him! I'm so sorry."

The she-varg has collapsed onto her rump sobbing, her ears flat against her skull and tail tucked tightly underneath her. She felt a large hand on her shoulders and looked up to see Gandalf's familiar face looking at her with those comforting eyes. "That is all in the past now. What matters is that you did not hurt Frodo. Sauron did not succeed in using you as his pawn and you are still fighting," his encouraging words seemed to heal the guilt that festered in Faolan's mind since the day at Amon Hen. She took a deep cleansing breath and gave a thankful smile.

All too soon, the wizard went from the comforting parent to the serious commander. "Now then Fangorn, my old friend. Look after these little rascals, would you? Keep them safe. I have urgent business elsewhere to attend to."

Merry chimed in, "Where are you going? You can't leave us so soon."

"I am afraid I must. But worry not, we will meet again soon. In the meantime Treebeard will make sure you are all safe. Perhaps you will have your own affairs to attend to here."

And with that, the wizard vanished as quickly as he appeared. It disappointed Faolan - she still had many things she wanted to ask him. She stood and dusted herself off, feeling much lighter now that she got the confession off her chest. Leaving themselves in the care of the Ent, the she-varg utilised her innate skills climbing up his body and nestling into a comfortable perch in his branches while Treebeard lifted Merry and Pippin, carefully placing the hobbits in the branches protruding from his shoulders.


	4. 3: Wolves in the Shadows

**A/N: **Happy new year my dears. Now then, that poll I was on about. I've had a grand total of 4 votes, and its 50/50. So if someone would just go over to my profile, vote ofmthat poll and tip the scales one way or another that'd be great. Anyway, read on, you're gonna like this.

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**Wolves in the Shadows**

"I told Gandalf I will keep you safe, and safe is where I will keep you," Treebeard boomed confidently.

Treebeard's singing coupled with boredom and frustration had finally driven Faolan slightly mad. She had been thrown into a period of having very little to do, torturing her active mind and need to be busy, causing stress, irritability and destructive behaviour. She'd scratch herself excessively, damaging her hair and skin and snap unnecessarily at her companions. However, there was one thing that made Faolan's already short temper to break.

Through no fault of their own, the cousins grew curious and began asking questions, mainly focused on the scratch of Faolan's nose. The scratch she had tried so hard to forget about. She really did not need it playing on her conscience, especially now when her temper was like taut rope. As much as she hoped, a cut like what Sting dealt to her was likely to leave a permanent mark for all to see. The hobbits pestered her for the details which of course she was reluctant to give out. Having probably lost Frodo's trust after the incident, Faolan was adamant to keep the trust of the cousins; she had grown close to them over the course of the journey and may even have been ready to call them friends. As much as she loved and appreciated them, the cousins certainly knew how to push Faolan's buttons.

The taut rope of Faolan's temper finally snapped. She changed to her wolf form and leapt off the ent's branches, landing with a thud as her paws met the ground. Loping into the forest, Faolan set her mind on finding something to kill. At home, if she ever felt upset or stressed she'd take some time to hunt alone. A little time away from the company of others and making a kill seemed to relieve some of the stress and calm her nerves, especially if she could eat what she killed.

Home. The concept as well as the place felt like a distant memory now; Faolan could barely recall the scent of the dens nor the sounds of her clan-mates' howls. She missed them now more than ever. She missed cuddling up to her mother for comfort, going on hunting trips with her siblings and fooling around with her friends.

"I should never have made the decision to come on this stupid journey," Faolan growled to herself, "I should have stayed at home. That is the only place I belong, with my own kind, away from the troubles of others. So much for trying to help."

The she-wolf spied a flash of movement out the corner of her eye. A squirrel had been startled by her passing by and made to scamper up a tree to safety. Faolan charged after it, her jaws narrowly missing the rodent. She snarled viciously at the squirrel that now sat on a branch in safety, seemingly mocking her. But her frustration soon gave way to surprise when an unknown force slammed into her, knocking her to the ground and sent her rolling. She struggled, kicking with her legs and snapping with her fangs in an attempt to remove her aggressor. Only when the information sent from her ears and nose did she cease and become rigid; pinning her to the mossy forest floor was a large male wolf, and not just any wolf. This was a vargkyn in his wolf form with a pelt the colour of storm clouds and milky green eyes. His lips were curled in a snarl as he looked down at the she-varg.

"You need to work on your temper, little she-wolf," he growled, "You couldn't sense me coming through your fury."

Faolan did not reply but growled back at him, trying to push him off with her hind legs but he was stronger and heavier than what she expected.

"Well aren't you a feisty one. You may as well get it out of your system now, for my father, the leader of my clan, will beat you if you don't sit quiet and comply."

"Clan? There's more of you here?" Faolan yipped in surprise. She knew there were other vargkyn clans out there in the world, but she did not expect to find one here in Fangorn Forest.

"This forest is my home, the home of the Nàdarfaire Clan. And you, little she-varg, trespassed on our territory uninvited," he said proudly, puffing his chest out. "Now come along. You have an appointment."

The male stepped off Faolan, allowing her to get up onto her paws. She held her tail and head low, eyeing the grey wolf cautiously through the corner of her eye.

"Stay ahead of me," he growled, "I don't want you to go running off or sinking your fangs into the back of my neck when I'm not looking."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Faolan muttered, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Faolan padded through the forest at the male varg's direction. Occasionally he'd shove her by the hind quarters, prompting her to growl and move faster. Aside from her displeasure, at the back of her mind Faolan wondered what this clan would be like. Would it be like her own or would it be distinctly different? Only rarely had she met other clans when her mother would take her to meet potential suiters and choose a mate, forming a coalition between the two clans.

The Wolf scent began to gradually grow stronger, causing Faolan's nose to twitch as her brain examined it. The den must not be far now, she thought. Her escort confirmed that notion. Leaping between the narrow gaps, over protruding roots and low-lying shrubs, the vargkyn broke through the common closeness of the rest of the forest to a much clearer and airier space. It was still darkened by the overhanging forest canopy, except for a single segment through which a beam of sunlight shone through.

"Who comes, Doyle?" came a male's voice, strong and intimidating.

Faolan's guardian responded, "A trespasser, father. Caught this little she-wolf barking up a tree at a squirrel."

The she-varg turned to Doyle with a glare, unappreciative of his mockery. "Enough of calling me 'little'!" Faolan snapped at him.

"Silence, trespasser. You will speak when you are spoken to."

Faolan turned to Doyle's father, the leader of the clan in this forest. In his man-like form he was slender but well-toned and stood tall and proud. He was intimidating enough in this form; Faolan dared not imagine what he would be like in his wolf form.

As the Nádarfaire leader sauntered over to her with a direct stare, Faolan adopted a submissive posture, rolling on her back with her tail tucked between her hind legs as a gesture of her respect and acknowledgement of his superiority. Only when he addressed her did she rise to her feet and reverted to her own man-like form.

"Well," he said, his eyes scrutinising her, "at least you are one of our own kind and not an Orc of the White Hand. It is uncommon for us to encounter a vargkyn of another clan. Tell me, who are you?"

Faolan kept her gaze and ears low. "I am Faolan of the Deancoill clan to the north-west, second daughter of Riona."

"Faolan? Isn't that a masculine name?"

"It's not my birth name but the name I chose for myself when the name my mother gave me displeased me."

The leader gave a light chuckled. "You are an intriguing one. But what business would a she-varg from the Deancoill clan have in our territory without invitation?"

Faolan hesitated. What was she supposed to say? She was still bound to secrecy, even with the fellowship broken. As far as she was concerned, the quest was still an ongoing thing and despite recent events, her loyalty to the Ringbearer and the Fellowship's purpose had not wavered. And yet the male leader of the Nádarfaire clan had put her in the spotlight. Out of respect to her superiors, Faolan should obey and tell him what he wanted to know.

Conflicted, Faolan faltered in trying to form a response that seemed like the best. A scowl formed on the male's face as he grew increasingly suspicious. "So the little pup has something to hide, does she?" he growled. The she-varg trembled as his gaze drilled into her.

"Macaulay, my love," said a soft feminine voice. "Don't be so hard on the young one, you're scaring her." A Nádarfaire she-varg, whom Faolan guessed was the female leader of the clan and Macaulay's mate, placed a hand on his shoulder. He seemed to melt slightly at her touch. "I'm sure she means us no harm."

"Since when were you so trusting of strangers, Shea?" Macaulay's tone had softened slightly.

"She is one of us. And there is no ill will between us and the Deancoill clan. Whatever reason she has for being here, I'm sure they are perfectly valid."

Faolan watched with anticipation as Macaulay eyed his mate with curiosity, as if wondering what was going on in the she-varg's mind.

"My bloodline has protected this forest for centuries. Regardless of who she is, I will not allow her to simply walk free. She will remain guarded here until she is ready to tell us what she is up to," Macaulay stated simply before leaving Faolan to be seen to by a lower ranking varg.


End file.
